Sherlock's Variable
by MissDLB
Summary: Sherlock Holmes isn't at all unaccustomed to human emotion, contrary to belief. He recognised the concept clearly. It almost turned into an experiment for Sherlock, collection and comparison of the various emotions he'd felt. What he did not expect was to find a variable in his experiment - John. Sherlock/John. Johnlock. Slash.
1. Prologue

**If you want this continuing, let me know. It's more of fanfiction to give me a bit of variation than an active story. But if you like it, let me know and I might carry on.**

**...**

**Prologue.**

Sherlock Holmes isn't at all unaccustomed to human emotion, contrary to belief. Infact, many a person who has entered his life had effected him in this way one time or another. He recognised the concept clearly. It almost turned into an experiment for Sherlock, collection and comparison of the various emotions he'd felt. What he did not expect was to find a variable in the experiment. John.

When Sherlock conducts an experiment, it isn't just a robotic evaluation. Many people seem to believe it is. No, when Sherlock conducts an experiment, he puts _feeling_into it. Raw devotion. However, when Sherlock conducts an experiment, he doesn't expect his hypothesis to be completely incorrect. John becomes a variable factor and completely changes the experiments course.

The truth is, Sherlock is utterly curious. He isn't _stupid_, mind you. But certain things he is completely inquisitive about. He _wants_ to test and experiment, because he wants to _know_. And one of those curious things Sherlock couldn't fathom out, happened to be John. Sherlock was no stranger to human emotion despite what people believed. There were people in his life or that had been and gone that struck his curiosity.

Though there was severe and bitter 'rivalry' between himself and Mycroft, there was some form of compassion there. Compassion was too powerful a word, Sherlock believed, despite this. But he could put it in no different terms. Significantly small acceptance, maybe?

He had, surprisingly, had other flatmates. They had stayed for a short while and Sherlock had grown accustomed to their company. More often than not, they left soon however. Yet it left him unaffected. They had merely been a small part of his routine that he didn't miss, but it brought his attention away when he didn't realise.

Then there was Mrs. Hudson. It was plainly obvious that Sherlock cared, he didn't like to dwell on this idea of caring, but he did, despite how detached he wanted to be from the rest of the world. Merely living among the rest of society was sometimes enough. But she was comfort to him. She had become a figure he _would _miss.

Of course, there had been Irene Adler. She had been the catalyst for Sherlock's heightening curiosity about emotions, friendships, relationships. There had been something about her so strikingly _different_. It was only until Sherlock had her figured out that he'd learnt what he needed and moved on. Although he admits, she would still have a small place in the mind palace. Even if it was just for beginning the biggest experiment he'd designed yet.

And that leads us, to our variable. Sherlock's variable. John had always made him wonder. Always made him inquisitive. If Sherlock was to work emotionlessly and categorically like the idiotic outside world predicted, John should have fallen into the 'forgettable flatmate' category. And yet, John provoked every other 'emotion' he'd come across, and appeared to be rousing more from what Sherlock thought was an emotionless subconscious.

The first day they had met, that is when the experiment began.


	2. Theory One: Flatmate

**I apologize for the slow updates. I'm confused, frustrated and currently on a diet. I have never been so cranky I don't think. Oh, life! Anyway, I may expand this chapter a little and fatten it out later.**

**For now, enjoy!**

**...**

**Theory One: Flatmate.**

John had certainly been different to Sherlock as a flat mate. There were the regular traits there from Sherlock's previous encounters or experiments. His guinea pigs he liked to refer them to now. The usual comforting feeling washing over Sherlock whenever he found tell-tale signs John had just been in a room. The relief that someone was there with him. The temperature of a mug in the kitchen, meaning John had only just left the thing abandoned. The way the seat was dinted subtly, an indentation only there a short amount of time after the occupant had left. It was a natural, human feeling, Sherlock deducted, to feel this settled emotion within oneself.

As seen previous times before with his other flatmates and as Sherlock recalled, he did miss the company. Not intensely. But more in the way that you'd miss the sight of a shirt that had been crumpled on a chair for days, as though it seemed to blend into the background and belong there now. Sherlock concluded that this did mean John did fall into this flatmate category. If he were to up and leave suddenly, Sherlock would be most inconvenienced and a little disappointed. Sherlock paused at this notion, however. He'd be more than let down. It wasn't just John's presence that was comforting or wanted around the flat. He seemed to be the only person Sherlock could interact with, _normally_, he supposed. As normal as Sherlock could get, anyway.

Of course, there was Mycroft. Yet, the rivalry got in between their personalities and the frustration and snobbish attire between them wore the casual out. Sherlock could not be himself around Mycroft.

Then there was Mrs Hudson. Sherlock did indeed care for her dearly, but they were indeed two very different people. She was, at times, odd and unpredictable like himself, but there were some things she just did not get. Sherlock could not be himself around Mrs Hudson.

Irene Adler. That was an interesting one. Sherlock noted that this concept needed to be stored away and yet kept to mind. Sherlock had connected with the woman on a new level that he'd never experienced before. And yet there was _still _that difference between them. Sherlock had admired her, for coming so close a contact to Sherlock's persona. Sherlock was not himself around Irene Adler. He felt he had something to prove.

There was the typical small talk between himself and John, surprisingly enough. As much as Sherlock despised the petty conversations between the rest of society, with John it was acceptable. To them, small talk was a quick update on the news, brief recollection of the case the night before, discussion over the flat. Sherlock supposed it was alright. After running a sequence through the detectives head, he decided that if John didn't go through this pointless pleasantries he'd be a little concerned. Assuming John was mad. It was best the casual talk stayed.

And then there was the opposite end of the spectrum. The almost manic, frenzied clash of attitude or the humorous and utterly strange sessions of elation the two shared. These were the times Sherlock enjoyed John's company the most. These were the times Sherlock was human, natural and pure. Not a self-obsessed, motivated bundle of ego.

**…**

"_Sherlock, you can't just talk to people like that."_

_John wore his usual exasperated expression; stood facing the door that a very distraught client had previously staggered back through. Sherlock looked uncaring, leaning further back into his arm chair and rolling his eyes._

"_Come off it, John. Even you realize that was an utterly ridiculous excuse to want my service. The woman had died from somewhat natural causes, clearly a drunk." Sherlock drawled, a sense of naivety crossing his features. He honestly didn't understand John's reasoning to be so pitiful of others sometimes. _

"_You made the woman __**cry**__, for God's sakes. Sherlock-"John cut himself off with a sigh. Running his hand across his face and moving to stand over the uncaring detective. "Don't you think that was a little bit too much?"_

_Sherlock lost his temper quickly and frowned, standing up and towering over John for a moment before turning his back and walking away._

"_Honestly, John. Do you have that much empathy for every __**fool**__ that walks through that door?" He huffed with a slight gesture of his hand._

"_Nope. I just don't see why you have to be so bloody rude half the time." John wore his typical bitter smile. It was like a smack in the face to Sherlock. It almost made him regret his actions and yet infuriated him at the same time._

_Sherlock growled in frustration and turned to stalk towards the shorter man._

"_She was a waste of time! I solved her so called case with a few intakes of air."_

"_You insulted her dead grandmother. The woman was still grieving for heaven's sake. Sherlock, just think about people for once-"_

"_I don't __**think**__ about people. Why do they need __**thinking**__ of? They have a perfectly capable brain capacity and working bodies to look after themselves with-" Sherlock's temper rose and he paused briefly. The sight of John's disbelieving half-smile emerging once more. His assistant shook his head. Sherlock sighed and turned, stalking to his room. "If only people were intelligent enough to actually __**use**__ their heads."_

_John didn't even flinch as Sherlock went to sulk in his room, like a teacher had told him his answer was wrong, no way around it. The door slammed. The doctor sighed and composed himself, settling himself down with a cup of tea and waiting for Sherlock to come skulking back. Tail between the legs but still that egoistic __**'I'm still right'**__ air about him._

_The doctor had almost laughed when he awoke the next morning, finding a very messy cup of tea on his bedside table. Sherlock's ways of apologizing to John were not very vocal and extremely subtle. Almost like he didn't want to scare his flatmate off for good._

**…**

It was becoming a challenging experiment. The consulting detective almost smirked, pressing his aligned hands against his lips. Did this mean John exceeded the flatmate boundary? If so, Sherlock's initial theory had been blown out of the water. John Watson, he decided, did indeed fall into the flatmate category. He was almost part of the fixtures and fittings by now. But it wouldn't just be a minor disturbance if he left. Sherlock needed John around now. Somewhere in a small part of his 'mind palace' he suspected he'd known this for a while. And so began the second theory.


	3. Theory Two: Motherly

**Theory Two: Motherly**

As much as Sherlock appreciated his own quick wit and degrading humour, the notion of John Watson being at all motherly was both a ridiculous and a hilarious notion indeed. And yet some aspects made sense, when Sherlock thought hard about it. The experiment had taken an unusual turn. Sherlock supposed he was far too used to having one theory and one only and it being correct. But not this time, however. Sherlock could only smile to himself like a Cheshire cat as he sat at the kitchen table.

The brunette moved on to the second, slightly more unusual theory Sherlock had. That John's relationship to him was similar to that of Mrs. Hudson. Not in the manner that John was always tittering about, complaining about how much work he did when it was never asked of him. It was just in the way that they both cared for Sherlock in equal measures. Sherlock knew he didn't deserve the attention, the worry or the needless care. And yet, unconditionally, everyday, he received just that.

Whether it was his landlady's almost daily visits, her affectionate tone or even the scolding when he destroyed part of the flat, it was all out of care. Sometimes it made Sherlock uneasy, having the woman so selfless towards a selfish creature like him. But there was something in the way that John went about it that was so much easier to accept.

John wasn't typical in the way that he showed his caring attitude. There was shouting. Lots of it. Scolding that teetered off of the exasperated scale and into the positively fuming. That impossibly disappointed look John gave him when he was more than disheartened at something Sherlock had done. These days it was more the times where Sherlock did not eat, or sleep or blocked John out of his mind to concentrate on the case at hand; rather than the particularly distinct memory of when John discovered Sherlock's methods were not moral, so to speak, just that they got the job done. And even after the bickering at how Sherlock should try to care, even if it didn't solve the case faster, the doctor was still there every morning to start the thing all over again.

Showing the same unrelenting care as John did every single day.

God, it infuriated Sherlock sometimes.

…

"_Sherlock, this is ridiculous." John muttered, watching the consulting detective pace up and down the flat. He'd lost a considerable amount of weight over the past few weeks, all down to one case he could not crack. There was one missing detail and he couldn't find it within his mind at all. He hadn't eaten, slept, drank…hell, even __**bathed **__in heaven knows how long. Sherlock ignored John for the millionth time that week._

"_You can't ignore me forever, Sherlock. I'm just trying to help." John kept his eyes glued to the brunette, hoping his presence would at the very least enrage Sherlock into saying something. His voice would be drying up soon if he didn't speak. Luckily, the bait worked._

"_Honestly John, can you not just leave me-"_

_John cut the detective off sharply, rather aggressively. "No, Sherlock. You haven't eaten or slept in days. You look terrible."_

_Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that. Even stressed and tired he managed to keep even an ounce of arrogance up._

"_The case needs to be solved." Sherlock sat elegantly in his chair, clasped hands pressed neatly against his lips._

"_Sherlock?"_

_No answer. John didn't need one._

"_You do realize I'll just keep talking at you or following you until you give up and eat something?"_

_Sherlock could almost feel the snap of relief from John as Sherlock sighed, not verbally accepting defeat, just giving him one of his god-awful stares. If John didn't know better, it could be easily mistaken for hostility._

_The consulting detective couldn't muster up the energy to argue. Vaguely, he realized if it had been anyone else they'd have no chance in persuading him, but John was so brash about looking after Sherlock. He felt like he had to just accept it._

_John had luckily saved some chicken and vegetable soup from his lunch earlier that day, knowing Sherlock wouldn't eat much more than that. Luckily the stove in the kitchen was intact that week, the detective so off put even his experiments were out of the way for a while. The soup was heated up within minutes; John needn't say a word as he set the bowl down on the kitchen table. All it took was a brief glance as he returned to sit in the living room._

_As much as Sherlock hated to admit it, as soon as he saw the food in front of him he realized just how starving he actually was. It didn't take long for the bowl to be cleared. And unfortunately for Sherlock's ego, it was then he noticed how impossibly tired he was. He lay on the sofa, resting his eyes briefly. Before Sherlock knew it he was in a deep slumber._

_When he awoke, it was with a start. Not out of fright or surprise, but realization. An elated Sherlock jumped up in an instant and proceeded to text Lestrade, the missing piece of the case solved. Sherlock hated to acknowledge it but sometimes he needed John to care, to be like a guardian, otherwise the detective was sure he'd have burned out by now. As John came back into the flat, shopping bag in hand, the sociopath couldn't help but grin almost manically at him, before proudly reeling off the evidence of his final conclusion._

_Not a single thanks, but somehow Sherlock knew John would understand him._

…

Sherlock decided that both of his theories so far were correct but not entirely on the dot. The detective was baffled as a strange and raw feeling cut through him, unlike other emotions he felt before. It only fuelled Sherlock into delving deeper into his unusual experiment, digging up other possibilities. There was only one hypothesis left after ruling out the Mycroft and John relation (far too obscure) and yet something inside Sherlock was hesitant to go there.

Yet, Sherlock found it was highly logical in his study to compare his doctor to that of Miss Irene Adler.

**...**

**Sorry about the delay, I'm still unsure of this idea as a whole, but I'm slowly trying to persevere with it. Let me know what you think.**


	4. Theory Three: Curiosity

**Theory Three: Curiosity**

Sherlock could, if he wanted, try to convince himself that a certain woman hadn't brought him into a new light when it came to human emotion. His ordeal with Miss Adler had been both an intriguing, but a frightening state of affairs. Sherlock had almost been out of his depth, _almost_, he stresses. As much as the consulting detective would love to deceive himself about it, it was the most anxious he'd ever been in his life to date. Well, if you took John out of the equation that is.

Irene had pulled Sherlock into whirlwind of feeling that he'd before been unaffected by or unaccustomed to. Even from their first encounter, it was apparent that she was unlike anyone Sherlock had met. Always one step ahead. Always challenging and provoking. In a way, almost intimidating. She kept her sentiments tight shut from most, but to Sherlock they were so plain. So _raw_. It was to the point that he almost didn't know what to do with himself. He tried everything to her out of his mind. No wonder Mycroft had been concerned and John had been beside himself.

Sherlock never really noticed or bothered to even consider the fact that maybe his experience with the woman had some connection to John. And yet when Sherlock found himself receiving his final text from Miss Adler and his longest standing experiment was again at the forefront of his mind, it hit him and it made _sense_. Still, it didn't make Sherlock's results any easier to decode. But at least he was making progress.

Sherlock remembers when he and John had first encountered as he sat in front of a Petri-dish. Analysing John without the shorter male ever realising. His body language, expression, the way he spoke, how John seemed to wear his emotions on his sleeve without even comprehending it. It was all new and interesting to Sherlock, because he was just so different to anyone he'd met. Whereas Irene Adler had been a confusing array of expressive but recluse, John was completely open. Completely real. Both of them had caught Sherlock's interest, whether for the same reason or not Sherlock couldn't yet deduce. Emotions still weren't his expertise, despite how much he'd learnt.

Ever since then, John had continued to amaze him and deepen Sherlock's curiosity. If it wasn't his unimaginable nerve he seemed to slip into whenever Sherlock had bitten off more than he could chew, it was his loyalty and patience towards Sherlock. Ignoring how insulting he could be and always ready to get him back on his feet or run off at the click of a finger. But the odd thing about it was, that if John didn't want to do it, he wouldn't. Sherlock could tell. The brunette knew there were people who would try to do anything just to get close to the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. But John could just as easily walk away as he did when he walked back into 221B Baker Street after a colossal argument. Sherlock knew John wasn't around just to say he knew him, he was around because he enjoyed what he was doing. The detective still didn't know how he felt about that.

**…**

Sherlock laid his full length across the sofa as he stared to the ceiling, thinking of his next course of action. Crime had been on an all time low this month. Sherlock wondered if it was due to the weather, considering it was Winter. He'd have to research into whether or not the criminals of London cared about temperature when going about their misbehaviour. There was probably a small correlation somewhere. Briefly, Sherlock remember the same boredom wrecking havoc over him some Winters ago. At least this time around, Sherlock had a long winded experiment he could now put his brain towards.

Sherlock half noticed John wander into the living room, sitting himself down roughly into his usual armchair before sticking his nose into a newspaper. It'd probably take him around seven or eight minutes to skim through the pages judging by the size and the doctor's attention span. Sherlock's mind clicked into gear before he was interrupted.

The only way Sherlock would be able to determine exactly what John was to him would be an experiment. He remembers numerous times where John had forbid him to do any type of testing, experimenting, prodding or poking on him. But this was physiological and emotional. He never said anything about that. And as far as he was concerned that was all the permission he needed. Plus, if he told John what he planned to do the experiment just wouldn't work. It had to be done, Sherlock reasoned.

Sherlock shifted and stretched his body further, adjusting his dressing gown briefly before breathing heavily through his nose. His hands which had previously been pressed under his jaw moved to rest on his stomach, his eyes narrowed. Had anyone been looking, they could have clearly seen each idea pass through Sherlock's mind as his lips twitched, eyes blinking in infrequent patterns, shifting casually. John was almost half way through his paper, noticing Sherlock's restless movements.

Sherlock would merely have to analyse the results he'd got so far. What we prove that John was just a flat mate? What would prove John didn't really care about Sherlock? How could Sherlock determine whether John was a match to him. The detective momentarily wondered, _what if John cannot be 'measured' this way. What if John is something new? _But these thoughts were pushed aside as said Doctor lifted his head, clearing his throat.

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

The detective nodded without even registering it, but replied after quite a long pause.  
"Yes, John. I'm fine. Just thinking about an experiment I've been conducting." He finished, sending a small smile John's way. John seemed unconvinced and furrowed his brow.

"Okay…what experiment?" Sherlock could almost predict what John would say next. _This better not be kitchen based Sherlock. I'm just a little bit tired of finding all sorts of body parts in the fridge…not to mention god knows what stains on the tops._

"Don't worry, John. I won't be using the kitchen. It's nothing big." He lied. John seemed to except that Sherlock was being secretive and left it.

The fact was that this experiment was one of the biggest tests of Sherlock's life. He _was_ a sociopath. He _didn't _care about humans, or their emotions and concerns. But he had experienced them, mostly the receiving end of them until he met John. Sherlock was curious, and this was an aspect of him that had plagued him ever since he was a boy. It was only natural, he reasoned, that he should be so obsessed with this research of his.

John finished his paper and caught Sherlock up into a round of idle chat. Sherlock complained of the boredom that was bound to set in soon and John reasoned that he just needed to do something other than run around the streets of London like a crime-driven maniac. All the while Sherlock wondered when he should conduct his first experiment. The sooner the better, he concluded.

**...**

**I'm slow at writing fanfictions sometimes, I apologize. Most of my time and effort is going into my original stories at the minute, I barely have time to juggle my literature, guitar, artwork, college, work etcetcetc.**


	5. Experiment One: Flatmate

**Experiment One: Flatmate.**

Sherlock was vaguely aware that he was risking a lot with his current agenda. For once, he couldn't completely explain just what exactly he was risking, but Sherlock did conclude that he would find out, eventually. But there was always that nagging drone at the back of his head. An ache that reminded him what he was doing he could quite easily regret. He was risking John, which he knew. But he still couldn't comprehend just what that entailed - that was the biggest worry. Yet anxiety was something the world's only consulting detective had learnt to ignore. Soon enough the worries subsided and the experiment began. Delving into something Sherlock had never believed he'd be so intrigued to unravel, if at all. Theorising, experimenting and attempting to conclude emotion and attachment, something that had never been his forte as much as he dictated he did. Unravelling what other people felt was easy sometimes. But himself? It seemed impossible almost, as unusual as it seemed considering he should most definitely know what he was feeling. Alas, he could not. And so the experiment began.

* * *

Ever since Sherlock had planted the seed of suspicion in John's mind, he hadn't let it go as much as the detective appeared to think he had. Although, if John knew anything about the man, Sherlock already knew how he felt whether he liked it or not. It could be the way he sat in his chair lately, or how he made his cups of tea or whatever weird and wonderful way Sherlock might be able to deduce it - John was a little worried. He was far too comfortable with the idea that Sherlock was always so eager to discuss his latest and greatest experiment, and if he wasn't so enthralled to bother to tell him, if John asked he'd ordinarily get answers. Don't get him wrong, John wouldn't push it – as feeble as it may seem – because to a degree he did respect Sherlock's actions, as unorthodox or worrying they may be. But for once he felt oddly marginalized and just a little bit left out. He also began to notice small changes in the house.

"Ugh…Sherlock?"

John didn't realise he was muttering absent-mindedly at first. As he stared into the contents of the fridge, he had an unpleasant sense of déjà-vu. He didn't particularly enjoy the reappearance of body parts in the fridge. They'd gone a decent couple of months of avoiding the whole scenario as Sherlock's experiment with someone's hand had…gone off, for lack of a better word. But it seemed Sherlock had no intentions of holding back this week. The fridge had been emptied and replaced with a variety of body parts, from hands to eyes and heaven knows what else in blue, plastic bags. John snapped out of his stupor and gripped the cup of tea in his right hand tighter as it began to slip and furrowed his brow, slamming the fridge door shut.

"Sherlock!" he called out again. It was early morning, surely he hadn't gone out? Infact, John knew he hadn't. He was far too used to the other man's routine by now. He called the brunette's name several times before flinging open the door to Sherlock's bedroom door with mild annoyance. He found his target on the bed, reading and - much to John's frustration - looking completely unfazed.

"Sherlock, why are there body parts in the fridge again?" John asked, stood in the doorway with tea in hand, looking a little ruffled. Honestly, John didn't mind the body parts now and again as long as Sherlock took care of them. He'd put it down to considering it one of Sherlock's fairly odd habits. It was a shared flat as well, after all. But a fridge _completely_ jam packed with heaven's knows what?

Sherlock couldn't help but feel a twinge of what he could only described as guilt as John stood, evidently disgusted at what he'd just seen and looking almost humorously dazed. The man paused for a moment, soundlessly pondering over his first move. Picking out what would irritate his shorter accomplice.

"Hm? Come now, John. Your deduction skills can't be that bad. It's obviously for an experiment." The detective replied in his usual, baritone drawl while gazing innocently at his flat mate. The typical idiom strike one came to mind as John's back straightened and his jaw clenched. Miniscule reactions and yet Sherlock managed to note every one.

"I knew _that_ much, Sherlock. But why is the fridge absolutely full of the stuff? It's horrid." John's tone was annoyed and taut, brows knitting together with each sentence.

"I have a few experiments to conduct in the coming month or two. Crime rates are at a low in this part of the year from what I've deduced over time. I'm not expecting anything big to do unless Christmas comes early. We all have to stay occupied, John." Sherlock finished it off with probably the most false smile of his life and so evidently pushing John's buttons. He wasn't graced with a verbal response. Just a sigh and a slammed door. Sherlock began to suspect he could predict the outcome of this particular experiment already. It wouldn't be the first time he had done so.

* * *

For the coming weeks, Sherlock's behaviour, for lack of a better word, was as unstrained and irritating as he could probably manage. Body parts seemed to appear across the flat in the most infuriating of places and times for that matter. Whether it was a half defrosted foot next to the kettle or even a severed ear sitting far too comfortable in a Petri dish on the sofa's arm. John was also horrified to find a single blue eye from heaven knows who on his bedside table one morning. One of the worst blows, Sherlock deduced from the shocked scream John had reactively given, was the reappearance of a head. Only this time behind the shower curtain and sitting innocently in the bath.

"Sherlock. Why the hell have you brought the heads back? Of all the things, Sherlock. Heads!" John sounded impossibly mad. It reminded the brunette of some of the moments when John had just moved in, questioning his ethics and morals on certain cases. The memory made him feel a little sick, funnily enough. He decided it must have been something he ate yesterday instead.

"John, I've told you a million times before. There's not been a decent case in weeks due to-"

"-time of the year. Yes, I bloody know."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that, eyes flickering back to his phone. John could feel the anger rising, but pushed it aside for the moment. Yet he demanded at least some explanation.

"And why the bathroom of all places? In fact, no. Not just the bathroom. My bedroom?"

Sherlock sighed. "I needed to monitor different rates of decay and reactions to chemicals in various environments based on temperature, humidity and so on." His voice was a bored drawl as his eyes narrowed, concentrating on his phone more than the jumper wearing man stood at the edge of the living room. For the longest moment, Sherlock thought his experiment had reached its peak. He could feel the familiar anxiety running through him as he reached a result, but the usual excitement was not there. Yet, John did nothing but sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Fine, fine. Just try and keep them out of the bedroom and bathroom…" he trailed off as he turned, mumbling to himself as he headed to his room for some sleep.

Sherlock stared at John's back in a mild sense of surprise, and watched the doorway for moments after. He'd been sure that'd been the last straw, but apparently not. Sherlock let out a breath and stretched his long legs out in front of him, hand running through the messy curls of dark hair and began to think, and he knew where he was going wrong.

Of all the flatmates he'd had, he'd felt no concern for their feelings or reactions or general welfare in the bluntest manner. But with John, it was different. They were the same side of a different coin and Sherlock understood John's need for minor normality sometimes, and until now he'd respected it without ever realising. Sherlock needed to revert back to the times where he hadn't felt this sense of compromise. As his slender fingers pressed to his lips, almost like a prayer, and his eyes focused on a section of the floor that didn't matter; he tried to go back to his most basic memories of housemates been and gone. And as he heard John swearing to himself as he most likely tried to decide what to do with the new body part sat on his chest of drawers, Sherlock almost began to regret what he'd started.

* * *

"Sherlock, I'm going to Sarah's for a couple of days."

The declaration itself, Sherlock noted, should have been completely nonchalant and casual…if they weren't under certain circumstances lately. Needless to say, John was riddled with not just annoyance, but anger and something that felt like exasperation. Mostly anger, unfortunately. And yet this is exactly what Sherlock had planned. His behaviour had been almost taxing to keep up with, but he'd managed. John had left to stay at a girlfriend's or potential suitor various times, but that was a long time ago compared to now.

"I see. Can I ask why? Or is it just an attempt at attracting Sarah's attention again?" Sherlock didn't mean for the question to sound so cold, but it did. And even though Sherlock's actions had made this situation inevitable, it still didn't settle well with him at all even if the experiment was going by textbook precision.

"_Why? _Are you serious, Sherlock? You've been unbearable these past few weeks." John paused for a moment as he stuffed a pair of jeans into a bag. "And no, actually. This isn't another pass at Sarah." He snapped.

"You're lying." Sherlock responded coldly as he stood in the doorway of John's room.

John shook his head and laughed hollowly. "Unbelievable. Look, Sherlock, I just need some breathing space and Sarah offered to let me stay-"

"-lie. You asked he-"

"Fine! I asked her. But she's letting me stay and that's it." John bustled past the brunette and headed for the door way.

"Have I honestly been that unbearable, John?" Sherlock asked with a blank expression.

"Yes, Sherlock, you have. The body parts were fine for a while. But the chemicals all over the kitchen, the explosion in the bathroom, which, by the way still needs seeing to because the sink won't stop bloody leaking. Not to mention my bedroom seems to be the next port of call for all the books and files for your cases-"John took an intake of breath and stopped. His face softening for a moment as he caught eyes with Sherlock. The brunette realised he must have looked a little bit taken aback. After all, everything he'd done had been forced lately. It was strange looking back upon it now as the experiment ended.

"I have my phone on me so text me if you need me. I'll be gone for a few days." John sighed as he opened the door to their flat, and headed out of 221b Baker Street.

* * *

The next day, Sherlock didn't both John whatsoever and surprisingly spent the time fixing what mess he'd made for the most part. The body parts were now disposed of as well as the books and files for cases that he hadn't really required. The chemicals were cleared and as he wandered the flat absent-mindedly noticing the sheer amount of papers placed around the house from different pieces of information he'd needed more knowledge on, cups of tea he'd left throughout the day and the remnants of ongoing experiments, he realised just actually how much John took care of the flat.

In just over twenty-seven hours, Sherlock had accumulated enough mess to actually begin to annoy himself. How he'd survived the insistent knocking and scattering of papers and spilt tea before John showed up was almost incredible. By the second day, just past eleven o clock, Sherlock pondered whether or not he could coax John back for some reason or another but stopped. It had only been two days for heaven's sake. Instead, he went another day without bothering to make himself anything to eat, spilling tea and losing notes. Another day John wasn't there to keep him in check.

"John, can we talk about something?"

The doctor had been awake fairly early that morning. No matter how many nights he'd spent on the couch in Sarah's home, three consecutively now, he never slept as well as he did in the flat much to his stubborn fuelled irritation.

"Yeah, sure. Do you want a cup of tea?"

Sarah shook her head as she sat next to John on the sofa, he watched her and waited patiently.

"This is going to sound impossibly rude, but I don't mean it to be…"

John frowned as he watched, wondering if he'd upset her for a moment. Contrary to what Sherlock had said, he hadn't even attempted to make a single move to Sarah. If anything, all he'd been thinking about was going back to Baker Street. Sarah was kind and comforting to be around. But he honestly did miss some of the chaos at home. He almost didn't notice Sarah had spoken until she watched him expectantly.

"It's just, you can't keep doing this, John."

"Doing…?"

"Running back here when things go a little bad with Sherlock. We're not even seeing each other right now. And you and I both now we won't be any time soon. I just don't think it's helping either of us…" her tone trailed and she moved to stare at the television absently playing to itself. John detected the hidden meaning. He'd over stayed his welcome at Sarah's a long time ago.

"I know what you mean. I'm sorry. It's just sometimes it gets a little too much with Sherlock sometimes. You know how he is." He laughs a little, but not really amused. Still, it breaks the tension and Sarah smiles, nodding.

"No, it's alright."

Sherlock couldn't have picked a better time. John half expected the man to have been waiting for this conversation to come from a distance.

_Meet me at the café a few doors down from the corner shop._

- _SH._

John didn't know why, but he had to stop himself from smiling with relief. Yet, Sarah must have noticed the shift in his mood as she smiled and nodded to herself silently.

* * *

Three days and around fifteen hours since John had left for Sarah's, and in that short amount of time, Sherlock had come to the conclusion of his first experiment. It hadn't surprised him, really. But a doubtful part subtly pressured him into thinking that he might be wrong this one time. And yet here he was, Sherlock Holmes, sat in a small café awaiting Doctor John Watson – because he had missed him. It wasn't just the cups of tea and papers that he'd thought used to miraculously disappear or organize themselves, or the chemicals that were always wiped clean. But it was the idle chat John used to pull him into without ever really registering it, or fighting over the films John occasionally decided to watch. He missed finding bits of lint from John's worn jumpers on the sofa and scowling as they clung to his black trousers. The flat didn't seem occupied if John wasn't there with him.

Not a minute late, Sherlock was pulled from his gaze as he absent-mindedly bit his ring finger from John sitting opposite. For the longest while, it seemed as though the silence would cause John to leave. The very idea caused a hot wave of panic to rush through Sherlock's chest rapidly, and he cleared his throat.

"John, I think I need to apologize." Sherlock paused as he fumbled over the right words. Words that wouldn't sound clinical and cold.

"I know. It's alright."

Sherlock met John's gaze with surprise and raised an eyebrow. Suddenly, John laughed a little.

"I know what you're like, Sherlock. You haven't had a decent case in weeks-"

"-we." Sherlock felt the need to correct him. He didn't know why. "We haven't had a case." He mumbled.

John nodded and a small smile flickered over his face for a moment before resuming. "Yeah. I mean it must be irritating. No wonder you've be occupying yourself…if putting body parts around the house is what that is." John picked up the cup of tea he'd only just noticed that was intended for him and took a swig. A minor pause filled the air before Sherlock drawled:

"Really, John? I thought you liked the severed heads."

John watched Sherlock with the blankest of expressions for what seemed like a lifetime before his face contorted into a grin, his chuckle-come-giggle rattling in his throat. Sherlock couldn't help but smile, almost fondly, as a small, deep chuckle of his own filled the empty café next to his partner's voice.

* * *

Sherlock hadn't been particularly surprised at this outcome. His first theory had seemed a little two plain and simple for John to just be classed as a flatmate. He should have known, really. They'd been through far more than most other housemates had managed with Sherlock, but most of all it was the fine details. Other flatmates had either ignored the mess and experiments or left as soon as it accumulated. But above that, none of them had ever really spoken to Sherlock. He was just an object there, a bit of a nuisance. But not for John. They talked, they argued, they spent most of their hours together in retrospect. It was as though someone had died when John left for days on end, scarily enough.

As John sat in his armchair, chatting casually about a patient at work who had almost been lost from an unexpected fit, Sherlock watched him while he lay on the sofa and concluded his first experiment. John proved to be the variable within the first theory - he was far from just his flat mate.

* * *

**I haven't disappeared. Promise.**


End file.
